


An Idiot

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Marijuana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Elias smells like weed and Peter has minimal people skills.Short and sweet but it's good enough
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Kudos: 46





	An Idiot

Yeah sure Elias Bouchard was stoner. He smoked weed on a regular and even possibly frightening basis, his eyes were commonly watery with a red backing and his smile was often loose and sloppy looking- as though he hadn’t the energy or the care to fix it. At its base it was charming though while accompanied by the thick pungent smell of marijauna it became insufferably defiant to any sort of conversation a person may wish to hold with Elias Bouchard- which was to say none.

So yes Elias Bouchard, artifact storage assistant extraordinaire, was a stoner.

And he didn’t really care what people thought of it.

Getting off of the bus and walking up to the steps of the archive was never an exactly fascinating walk, especially not when doing so in the rain after having completely forgotten to grab his umbrella before leaving the apartment that morning, busy with checking his oyster card was in his wallet and spraying half a can of deodorant over his clothes after the previous discussion of his hygiene involved James Wright putting his creepy old man hands somewhat close to Elias’s person as the young man had been lectured about hygiene and professional maturity in the workplace before proceeding to get high in the cleaning closet down the hall and ignore everything he’d said in that gnarled voice of his until Elias felt suitably floating in his own head to consider behaving. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have cash- his parents dying when he was sixteen ensuring he did. And it wasn’t as though he particularly enjoyed looking at creepy old things in a big sub level warehouse all day long while his colleagues slowly disappeared one by one. But he supposed he liked having the structure to his day. Anyway, it was raining- that was the point.

Fat clouds hung heavy in the sky above that seemed to bow beneath their heavy grey weight. They pooled and swirled into a thick wave that obscured the sun and tops of the tallest buildings creating a rather sullen shadow that sunk into all of London and had it seem sulking with grey stony faces. The tears for such a scene were shed in the form of bulky raindrops that flattened the slight curls Elias’s hair had always insisted on forming.

He hated the rain, how it dampened his mood and muffled the world so he was unable to take in the full gruesome beauty that was London. He liked the sound and the people, the billboards and taxis. But the rain always seemed to increase this little layer that Elias already struggled to peel back and made his view of the world more disorientating. Like water becoming saline sort of.

Walking a little faster, he kept his head ducked down and pulled his shoulders and hands up, hunching his ever too thin jacket up over his head to replace his lack of hood and hopefully stave off the drowned rat look until he reached the institute. It was like this, doing his awkward little half walk half jog down the ever uneven pavement of a London street that he kept his eyes glued downwards and did not spare a single glance for his surroundings, already knowing his route and seeing no point in making accommodations for anybody else- arrogant of him he knew, but he didn’t care. And it was an attitude like that that led him to believe he’d just walked into a sudden and very inconvenient brick wall initially. It was not a brick wall, no, just a very tall and very bewildered young man who appeared only a year or two behind him. The man was large and rugged in every sense of the word and if it were not for what must be costume (as it was such an outlandish take on what a sea captain might wear) Elias would’ve very much taken him up if they had been in a radiant fog encrusted nightclub on a saturday early morning rather than a rainy street edge at eight am on a wednesday. Part of him wanted to say that the two instances were close enough and then the man had to open his chapped lips and speak.

“You stink.” He oh so cleverly observed in this dull sort of accent that Elias would very quickly roll his eyes at and choose to ignore.

“You’re in the way.” Elias muttered, feeling his expression deadpan with irritation even if he had chosen to let the comment slide. He watched the man blink a couple times and awkwardly shuffle a bit to the side, clearly unaware of his own bulk. An idiot. A handsome idiot. “Are you lost or something?” 

He smiled tiredly when the man swallowed thickly, seeming almost surprised to have received much notice despite having been the first to speak. The brick wall nodded, once seeming unsure of whether he was or not and then a lot firmer the secondary time as if he only suddenly made up his mind.

“I am looking for the Magnus institute, do you know where I can find it?” The way he weighted his words was odd, his emphasis on some seeming out of place and a little janky as he scratched the stubble on his cheeks with thick fingers and short nails.

“Yeah I do. I’m Elias, I'll be your resident tour guide of this one street of London because it is, quite literally, on the corner of the road behind you.” He tried to sweeten his words but he didn’t find himself really needing to, he smiled again- this time far more genuine- and the man looked at him as though he were the sun.

“Peter.” The tactless idiot offered to shake his hand.


End file.
